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Forum:Gears of War Fan Fiction
Hi everyone, i'm new here but i absolutely can't wait until GoW2 comes out in a few months. So when it is i'll be a bit more active here to help add more info and to possibly make the site look better and more indavidual. I site skin would be really good too. However i also would like to take the story of GoW a lot further in terms of fan fiction. I'm very creative and i'm a very active member of Halo Fanon. So if there already is a site then could you please direct me to it. If not then i will request one and any help to run it, would be appreciated. Despite the turn out of that wiki, i'll definately start contributing here, so welcome everyone! Thanks for any help, i'm looking forward to working with you. Cya, I'm going out on a limb here, but I'm posting up my latest Gears of War Fanon here. Don't worry, I don't suck at writing like most fanon I've read (AP Language and Composition is daunting!) and I've had the biggest Gears fan and AP buddies edit it to perfection. It isn't that long, but I think it really roots itself in the realism and war-like qualities Gears of War thrives on... enjoy! SoupyAssassin has written: ↓↓↓↓ Rendezvous "I have a rendezvous with Death, that some disputed barricade, It may be he'll take my hand, And lead me into his dark land, and close my eyes and quench my breath, I have a rendezvous with death, and I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous..." - Alan Seeger The evening bit and chilled the mind more than it did the bone and skin and body. The quiet scruff-scruff of the snow under their heavy boots was, ironically, the only thing keeping their heads warm, the only thing that kept them wary of every sound the wintery streets expelled. Hearing had become a necessary tool, the first sign of danger. Ever since ancient times, animals had used their acute hearing to sense predators; it was no different now. Gripping their rifles tightly in their numb hands, they trudged onward, occasionally checking their left and right for any discolorations in the pale snow. Their predators, pasty and pale, were camouflaged and colored like death - white yet unclean. The promise of battle did not frighten these soldiers, only that they may never see the end of it. Most of them had kept their helmets tight upon their head, keeping the raw wind from their tired faces. The wind whirred and whistled as it blasted past sharp edges, causing strange echoes off the empty buildings. They jittered uneasily, almost expectant of the inevitable fire of battle. They almost wished it was upon them, some extra movement to spur their spirits rather than their body. Each soldier took a quick glance at one another, seeking acknowledgement of their feelings. They caught each other’s gaze before gliding through the snow with a quiet efficiency. Each one slid behind the once-useful objects of normality, edging themselves deeper into the shadows, each waited. A distant rumble shook the ground almost imperceptibly. The slight rumble slowly became clear and reverberating. The street broke into several cracked pieces up ahead, revealing the cold rock below. The silence was gone now, and immediately, they missed it. Suddenly, the snow bulged up slightly before crashing downward, creating a shallow crater in the street. Rubble from the surrounding building, pebbles, and even hastily discarded trash all rolled toward the epicenter of the hole. As the debris rolled closer to the hole which was increasing in depth, they sped up, bouncing up and down on their own irregularities. The soldier counted the seconds from the start of their movement. 1… 2… 3… 4… Usually six or seven seconds, they thought as one, feeling the ground rumble ever so slightly more. 5… 6… They readied their rifles, peeked their eyes over from their supposed safety, and held their breath. 7… The ground blasted downwards, tossing pavement, dirt, and metal high into the air from the pressure change, before falling back down, leaving a deep dark tunnel that were worse than any man’s nightmares. The rumbles began to cease and echo off the dilapidated buildings and were followed by the roar of war cries and the unavoidable fact that only one side will stand in the end. Grey-white hands clenched the snowy rim of the crater, pulling the owners upward and onto the battle horizon. “Open fire!” the sergeant cried in a husky tired voice, firing off several rounds into the nearest creature. The creatures quickly rose to a low squat before charging forward, low to the ground and heaving brutal blood curdling roars. The soldiers answered the creatures’ calls with their own, a hymn of war and glory. The soldiers felt their spirits stay strong as the encouraging tone of their song filled their helmets with the reassurance and resonance of honor in death on the battlefield. The sergeant saw several creatures move to flank their positions on an adjacent plaza ledge, placing their rifles on the degraded concrete railing. “On the right! Get down!” He warned, before running forward towards to the emergence hole. He dived behind an old car, angled so that he was safe from the new frontline. “Rao, fall back and pull around to take those Locust out!” Rao tightened his grip on his shotgun, took a deep breath, nodded to his superior and sprinted away from the fight, never stopping his brothers’ mighty chant. He pressed himself against the wall, keeping close as to not alert the fiendish creatures. The ice was slippery and he brushed his hand on the stone wall to keep his balance. The war was far from over and he knew it. He had been fighting for nearly fourteen years, watching his brothers fall on the field and bleed alongside him. It made him feel attached to his squad; they felt what he felt and saw what he saw. But he nonetheless wanted to end it. Every few months or so he would lose another member of his squad and be introduced to another who was the sole survivor of their last squad. Only the strongest survived the gruesome encounters. Rao fought the flooding memories, forcing himself to focus on the fight at hand. He could hear the chatter-chatter of their rifles, the baat- baat of the opposing rifles a short distance from him, just before he wheeled the corner and charged at the unwary attackers. The one nearest to him and on guard turned briefly and caught his eyes. Rao fired his shotgun from his hip, leveling the surprised beast. The others turned quickly at the bark of the shot and returned fire before the dead corpse could splash onto the cold marble plaza. Rao flipped a heavy table with his shoulder, sending it down on its side and sliding toward the white beasts. Not missing a beat, he kept behind the sanctity of the stone table and fired off several shots without looking. Hearing the juicy splotch of the foul beast falling and the clicking of its rifle on the ground, Rao put all his weight on the still sliding stone table, propelling it rapidly towards the grey monster. It dived straight over the speeding table, nearly getting crushed between the table and cold marble tile wall, but it was all in vain, as it stood only to meet the unfriendly business end of the Gnasher shotgun. The end was quick and gruesome, splattering the deathly red liquid onto the pure, clean snow which had flown in through the broken windows, staining it in the terrible crimson attributed with war. Rao popped in several more shotgun shells, pumping the slide, and charged down the snowy steps and toward the now unguarded side of the Locust line. But the battle was already over; drone bodies covered the ground near the emergence hole and behind random places of cover. The Gears stood up from their cover to meet their bloodied comrade. They each searched the squad and held their heads in sadness to realize one soldier had not made it. They kept the pain inside, ready to unleash their vengeance the next time the Locust decided to cross swords with them. The sergeant held his hand to the side of his helmet as he communicated with the command over the loss of a squad mate. They each waited, anxious to find the next fight and continue on this endless fight. Their sergeant looked up, beckoned with a brisk nod to the left, and a quickly waved his hand onward down the street. Rao reluctantly took point, keeping his head facing backwards toward the bloodied battle field. He was sure he wasn’t about to lose another friend. Rao let go of his feelings, and tried to remain composed. He swapped his Gnasher for his “trusty” Lancer. Trusty… what a joke! The propaganda ads which had inspired him years ago called for a march to arms and drawing of your Lancer. Rao struggled to keep his mind off the war; he had thought of so little in the past year or so. Truth was, he told himself, his Lancer was the most susceptible to jamming. The chainsaw blade nearly always got caught on the tougher bones of those unfortunate locust caught on the other end and the cartridge never fit right in the slot. But it had never truly failed him, jammed yes, but never failed. So many soldiers had lost their lives to faulty kit. But it was an inevitability of war. He realized he was back on the topic of war again. Griffin strolled up next to him, realizing his brother’s vulnerability. “Don’t worry, man. I hear Delta’s mappin’ the caves with a reseantator!” “Reseantator?” Shepard joked, “It’s called a R-E-S-O-N-A-T-O-R, dumbshit!” “Does it really matter? We’re gonna win anyway!” “Roland, do you even listen to yourself?” Shepard laughed. “Well…” “Keep it down, private!” Jackson barked “Sorry, sarge” Shepard looked down, slightly embarrassed. The jokes were all in good humor, but Rao knew they were only to distract them from the past. The past was the only unavoidable truth they had. And they hated it. SOupyAssassin has written: ↑↑↑↑ Nice that was really good. However what about an actual site for gears fanon? Is there on or not? If not then who's up for making one?